What Comes Before
by Delwin
Summary: It had to do with Vidiian caves, twisting hulls, Kazon Majes and falling ships; it had to do with finding yourself trusting someone with whom you still had unresolved history.
1. I

Author's Note - This is my first fan fiction and my first attempt at fiction at all in years. Please be gentle.  
(A huge thank you to **Photogirl1890** for same post-publication beta-ing of these chapters!)

Disclaimer - The characters do not belong to me. Nor does the ship or anything else in this particular fictional universe.

* * *

**What Comes Before  
**

**I. **

_Immediately following the events of "Tattoo", early Season 2..._

The glass slid and stopped neatly centimeters from her fingers as they rested on the wooden table top, the golden liquid within barely disturbed. Breaking attention from the PADD of engineering reports in her right hand, she arched an eyebrow and looked first down at the drink and then up at the pilot who had sent it her way and who was still standing (_uncertainly? Was Tom Paris ever uncertain?_) across the table, his own glass and a bottle in hand.

"Thought maybe you could use a drink," he suggested simply, and, when not immediately met with a hurled epithet in response, he folded his long frame into the chair opposite her. He quirked an eyebrow at her. "It's been one of those days."

"It has," she acknowledged cautiously, as she set down the PADD, which spelled out in lurid technical detail just how long the day had been, and picked up the glass. "Isn't it traditional to ask before buying someone a drink?"

"Would you have said yes?" Eyebrows raised. She gave him a small half smile at that since they both knew the probable answer. "Better to seek forgiveness than to ask permission then."

It should have sounded practiced: a line that Paris had used before on countless women. It would be accompanied by a soulful gaze from those crystal blue eyes asking forgiveness for whatever petty trespass had just been committed and permission for a whole lot more. But perhaps he had become wise enough not to play that game with her or perhaps it had simply really been that long of a day (_or perhaps she was the one woman in the galaxy that held no interest for Tom Paris and that should be a good thing, right?_) because even though he did catch and hold her eyes, all she read in his was a shared understanding of just how fucked up this day had been.

Which decided it, and she took the glass in hand, offering her companion a brief salute and downed it in a single swallow, giving only the slightest gasp as the alcohol (_real alcohol. Of course it was real alcohol. Trust Paris to know that nothing else would be appropriate for this day_) slid and burned down her throat. "What is it?" she asked, hoping that he didn't notice the wheeze in her voice.

"The Delta Quadrant equivalent of whiskey, as far as I can tell," he offered, looking impressed and the tiniest bit amused and refilling her glass. "It's actually rather drinkable," he added, taking his own drink at a more leisurely pace.

Taking the hint, she shrugged and sipped and sat across from what might be the best pilot in two quadrants of this galaxy and shared a drink and the knowledge that neither he nor she, one of the best engineers in those same two quadrants, had been able to keep their ship in the skies that day. There were no excuses, no _what if_'s or _perhaps maybe_'s, no platitudes that they had done their best. There was nothing that either had missed and no one that either could blame. There had been no more rabbits in either of their hats. And _Voyager_ had fallen. To be saved only by a _deus ex machina_ worthy of a Greek comedy or B grade film.

She swirled her drink and contemplated its golden depths before glancing up and finding herself caught by a particularly intense gaze from the pilot. Whether as a result of inherent Klingon stubbornness or Delta Quadrant whiskey fed courage, she refused to drop her eyes. Paris, for his part, seemed unfazed. No, that wasn't quite it. For Paris, the appearance of unconcern was a mask he wore often and one that she loathed. His look was assessing, curious, even kind. The mask, she realized, had dropped.

Which realization made her stomachs perform a queer double flip, and she perhaps hastily took a largish gulp to finish off her drink. Paris's mouth twitched and he wordlessly moved to fill the glass one more time and, against some better judgment, she did not resist. "Tom," she started, taking advantage of his activity to resettle stomachs and nerves, "can I ask you a question?"

"Are you wondering if I'm trying to get you drunk?" Paris quipped lightly.

"No – that would take some work, by the way. Klingon metabolisms have evolved around blood wine after all." She caught his eye again, knowing she was throwing him an almost irresistible challenge and smiled, but then looked down and toyed with her drink. "I've wanted to ask you – needed to ask you – what happened after you left the _Liberty_?"

* * *

"_I've wanted to ask you – needed to ask you – what happened after you left the _Liberty_?"_

Tom sat for a beat, then two. A cascade of sarcastic responses reeled through his head, but her eyes caught his again and he found himself nauseated by his own defensiveness. She _needed_ to ask him. He could ask her why, but he already knew. It had to do with Vidiian caves, twisting hulls, Kazon Majes and falling ships; it had to do with finding yourself trusting someone with whom you still had unresolved history. So he fought down the sarcasm, the defensiveness and perhaps even a bit of the self-loathing that fueled them. "I would have thought that you would have already looked up the records."

She held his gaze and nodded. "I did."

"And?"

"The official report is that you encountered a Starfleet patrol ship and were ordered to stand down and prepare to be boarded. You ran, were caught and sent to prison."

He considered. "I'd say that's fairly accurate."

"It leaves a lot to interpretation," she pushed, mouth twisting into a half smile.

_And therein lies the rub_. Everything was up to interpretation. An interpretation that would be based on one's perceived character. So, once one managed to thoroughly fuck up one's perceived character, interpretation would forever be against one. _Perhaps Klingon's were on to something in holding personal honor so dear after all. Must be all that story telling they do._

But she was here and asking him about it. Needing to ask him about it.

Again fighting both urge and instinct to slouch back in his chair, to cross his arms and lace his voice with contempt, he instead leaned forward onto the table, still watching those dark eyes. "So what is your interpretation, B'Elanna?"

Instead of answering his question, she asked, "How did the colonists on Selka know where to find us, Tom?"

He felt his face begin to color and cursed his fair-skinned heritage for betraying him into answering a question on which he would otherwise have kept silent.

Her head cocked to the side as she read her answer. "You sent a message to Selka somehow. When you knew you were going to be intercepted. And then you ran to lead Starfleet away from us." Her voice was soft. He snapped his gaze down and away. "Look, B'Elanna, I..." whatever nonsense he was about to spout was cut short when she reached out and laid her hand over the back of his. "Tom..."

He looked back up and their eyes locked once again. He felt the pressure of her hand against his and heard her say his name and felt every nerve in his body react _and oh shit this could not possibly be good_...

"Tom, there you are!" Harry called from across the bar, and B'Elanna's hand skittered back across to her drink. She shot the remainder of the liquid down as quickly as she had gulped down the first glass, and he knew that she was about to leave and his slightly addled brain could come up with no excuse to ask her to stay. Harry wound his way towards the table. "B'Elanna, are you leaving already?"

"Sorry, Starfleet – I need to put a couple of engineering reports to bed," she made her excuses, getting up to leave and turning toward the exit. At which point his thoughts finally caught up with themselves and he called after her – "B'Elanna, wait!"

She turned, one hand on hip. He sought her eyes one more time. "Thank you," he said simply. She smiled (_gods, one could make it one's life's work to get her to smile more often_) and nodded before moving toward the door. Tom's eyes followed until _Sandrine_'s doors swung shut behind her.


	2. II

**II.**

_...following the events of "Prototype" about a month before "Threshold", Season 2  
_

B'Elanna stood uncertainly, shifting weight from foot to foot, nervously gripping the PADD in her hand. Glancing up and down the corridor and thanking whatever gods were kinder and more sympathetic than their Klingon counterparts for the absence of any witnesses, she pulled back her shoulders and reached for the door chime. At the last instant, she almost changed her mind, but holding together whatever shreds of honor she had, she managed to tap the chime.

"Come on in, Harry – I'll be out in a minute," the cabin's occupant called as the door opened before her. Habit rather than any conscious thought made her step across the threshold and the door mercifully slipped closed behind her, blocking off any idea of hasty retreat.

_Okay, I'm here. Now what?_ Finding herself alone, curiosity temporarily overcame trepidation, and B'Elanna's eyes moved around the room, vainly seeking clues about the occupant from the sparse and standard Starfleet furnishings. There was little in the way of personal effects and what few there were seemed to be neatly and meticulously stowed away – she winced inwardly as she mentally contrasted this with the usual somewhat haphazard state of her own quarters. Still, it was difficult to tell that anyone even lived in the room she had just entered.

"Sorry, I was just taking advantage of some extra rations to enjoy a real shower – " she jumped guiltily and turned to see Tom Paris walking through the door from the cabin's bathroom, toweling his wet hair though (_thank those same generous gods!) _fully dressed_. _He stopped as he finally saw whom it was that he was addressing. "B'Elanna!" A slightly confused but warm smile followed. "You're not Harry."

"No," she agreed, glad that at least that was easy. "I'm sorry – if you and Harry have plans, I can come back another time."

"Not at all." The warmth in his voice seemed reassuringly genuine. "Actually, I wasn't exactly expecting Harry either, but I don't get a lot of other visitors at this time at night." She nodded and some part of her knew that it was her opening to explain her presence, but, at that moment, she had no idea where to begin. _And wasn't it odd that Tom Paris the reputed playboy and womanizer had no one to expect in the evenings other than his best friend? _The silence stretched for a moment, but he seemed to share little of her discomfort and finally offered. "Would you like something to drink?" and motioned toward the small sitting area.

She shook her head but did move to sit down, and he took a seat opposite her. She realized that she still had the PADD clutched too tightly in her hands and set it down deliberately on a small table next to her. Across from her, the pilot sat, still patiently waiting for her to explain why she was there, and she found herself grateful that Tom Paris, who could so easily fill any silence, left this one undisturbed until she was ready to break it. "I wanted to say thank you," she opened, "for everything you did to get me off that Pralor ship the other day."

Now that did seem to make him uncomfortable, and he quickly tried to shrug it off. "You would have done the same – have done the same."

She gave a half nod, acknowledging that. "Still, you risked your life for me, and I'm grateful."

* * *

_"__Still, you risked your life for me, and I'm grateful." _

He nodded, unsure how else to respond. Each of them had risked themselves for their crew mates before, including each other. Hell, that's exactly what B'Elanna had been doing when he swooped in to rescue her. And there was the slightly awkward part: he had very much swooped in and had argued passionately to be the one to do the swooping. And, while he knew that he would have done the same for any member of the crew, the fact that it was her had made every difference. But these were definitely not things to be said, and they were not why he had found the chief engineer standing in his quarters this evening.

When she continued to hesitate, with a small smile he offered, "So you came to finish our conversation?" She looked up, seemingly a bit startled that he should have read her intentions so easily. "You only threw the easy question at me that night at Sandrine's."

"Didn't seem so easy at the time," she said with the slightest of smiles and meeting his eyes. And again he was drowning in those eyes and realizing how easy it has been to risk his life for her – and how much harder was this game of risking the truth. _Damn_.

"You want to know how I ended up on _Voyager_?" She nodded, holding his gaze as if she could find some answer there. "What have you heard?"

"That Janeway offered you a chance at early parole if you would lead _Voyager_ to the Maquis. To us," she added more pointedly though her voice was remarkably soft and even, and he took some courage from that.

"More or less – not early parole but a 'good word' at my next parole hearing. But, essentially, that was the deal."

"And you said yes?"

Holding onto the lifeline of her gaze, hoping against hope that she would see something there that he wasn't even sure existed, he said simply, "I did."

Her eyes dropped for a moment but then snapped back up. "Why?" There was hurt and disbelief in her voice and in her eyes. Some part of him scrambled for an answer that would soothe that pain, some lie or half-truth. But she'd see that for what it was in an instant. So truth it was, for all the good the truth had ever done him.

He stood then and began pacing the room. "Not for any good reason. I wanted an out. I was desperate for an out. I had fucked up my life so well that I thought I couldn't make it any worse. I was a selfish bastard who had stopped caring about anything outside myself.

"I could tell you that I didn't really think I would have been able to help find any of you, which would be true; I could tell you that I had half a plan to run as soon as I got to DS9, which would also be true. But, when it comes down to it, taking that deal was one of the two worst choices I've made."

He slumped back down in the seat across from her, only now daring to look back at her, but he was unable to read her expression. He sighed but continued: "And do you know what the really fucked up part is, B'Elanna? As a result of that choice, I'm back on board a starship – and not just any starship, but the most advanced, responsive ship in Starfleet – and not just on board, but I am _piloting _that ship. I have friends, I have freedom – sure, I'm in the middle of the Delta Quadrant but frankly that seems a ludicrously small price to pay."

He laughed mirthlessly and brought his hands up to rub his eyes. "You know, the two times in my life I did something because it was the right thing, I ended up being kicked out of Starfleet and thrown into prison. And for this fucked up choice, I get a life back." Sighing he finished, "Not exactly a great morality tale, is it?"

There was a pause before she replied simply, "No, it isn't," which is when it hit him that she was still there and that she was still speaking to him. So that was something. Actually, quite a lot. He dared to look up and the expression on her face was still fairly unreadable but there was something there as well.

She stood up. His stomach dropped as he expected her to walk out the door and then settled abruptly as instead she began to pace the same route he had taken a minute before. Then, "You're wrong, you know," she threw out, almost angrily.

He looked at her in honest confusion – of the number of responses he might have predicted or feared, this was not one of them. "Wrong?" he echoed.

"You said that _this_," she gestured widely indicating the room, _Voyager_, perhaps the whole Delta Quadrant, "was a consequence of that choice you made that day in New Zealand. But that's wrong. Maybe that's why you are on the ship, but you didn't come onto this ship as the pilot. Janeway didn't let you take the helm because you agreed to help track us down; she gave you the helm because you risked your life to save all of us down on the Ocampan homeworld. You don't have friends because of a bad decision made to get out of a prison colony; you have friends because of who and what you've been since you've been on board."

He was silent for a moment, not quite sure what to make of her outburst. She had cut through his self-pity and bullshit with the same ruthless precision with which she attacked problems in engineering. She circled back around and sat back down on the edge of the chair. Abruptly, as if something had just occurred to her, she looked back up at him, questioningly. "That's not why you came after me, is it?"

He blinked a couple of times, processing her question. "No. No, that wasn't some sort of misguided attempt to find redemption." And he smiled, relieved that this truth was easy, "That also had to do with what has happened since we've all been on _Voyager_." His smile twisted just a bit and because she was still there and because he was still Tom Paris and because getting a reaction out of her still made his night, he added, "That was pretty much a knight in shining armor sort of thing."

And to his delight, she snorted a laugh. "I am hardly a damsel in distress, Lieutenant.."

He laughed as well and intentionally laced his voice with appreciation. "No, that you are not."

She eyed him for just a moment before seeming to make a decision and leaning forward to pick up the PADD from the table and hand it to him. "What do you know about transwarp theory?"

"Huh?" She smirked in wicked satisfaction at having rendered him speechless with her sudden change of topic and explained, "Harry and I have been analyzing the dilithium we mined from the asteroid belt a couple days back, and it is far higher quality and capable of handling much higher warp frequencies than anything we've seen. It may be the key to breaking the warp barrier. We've been throwing around ideas of how we might modify a shuttle to create a transwarp engine. Harry suggested we let you in. That," she indicated the PADD, "is where we are at so far."

"Harry suggested you ask me, did he?" _Must remember to buy Harry a drink next time we are at Sandrine's. Or two. And ask him just what he thinks he knows. _He thumbed the PADD on and glanced down at its contents, then up at her. "And you want to work with me even after..."

She looked at him appraisingly then sighed. "Tom, you made a mistake. A bad one. But, we've all made our share. I certainly have." She paused a moment and seemed to be trying to make sense of her own thoughts. "Here's what I think I know: the Tom Paris that I've come to know over the last year can be obnoxious and infuriating, but he is also a good officer and..." she hesitated only a second before plunging forward, "...and a good friend. And, he would have given Janeway a different answer that day. Maybe, sometimes, the past can actually remain in the past."

He wondered if she comprehended the magnitude of the gift that she had just given him. "_I don't need anyone to choose my friends for me." _Harry's words from almost a year before echoed in his head. It wasn't forgiveness or redemption that they were offering, but acceptance of who he was now. It was something that he wondered if he would ever be able to offer himself. Shrugging away a line of introspection likely to get him nowhere, he looked back down at the PADD in his hands. "So a transwarp shuttle?" he offered lightly. "You can build one?"

"Perhaps," she nodded, grinning and eyes flashing a challenge. "If we do, can you fly it?"

He returned the grin, happily back on firm ground. "Yes, ma'am."


	3. III

**III.**

_...takes place directly before "Alliances", mid-season 2_

"So the higher the warp oscillations, the higher the structural resonance stress on the dilithium matrix. But, the higher resonance can give us the push we need to break into transwarp frequencies. We just need to get the balance right," Paris insisted as he grinned and leaned back precariously in the holodeck shuttle craft's pilot seat, hands resting behind his head. B'Elanna rolled her eyes at him and narrowly resisted the urge to kick up on the seat of the chair, sending him toppling.

They had been at this for hours, chasing their own thoughts in circles and that after the full day of their regular shifts. Thus far, they hadn't come up with anything concrete enough to bring to the captain, and so their work to create a stable transwarp field had been on their own time. Harry was covering a beta shift in Ops this evening, leaving B'Elanna and Tom to their project. The pilot had apparently had a slow day at the conn and was still full of an energy that in some other time and place might have been infectious. On the other hand, B'Elanna, who had spent another day patching engines in desperate need of a dry dock, was approaching exhaustion and both her nerves and temper were rapidly fraying.

"Thanks for the summary," she growled in the pilot's general direction. "Any contribution on how to accomplish that little feat?"

He blinked at her tone and glanced over, giving her an appraising look that reminded her he had been trained as a field medic. Whatever he saw made him sit back up, turning his chair towards hers and leaning forward. "Not much. I'm just a pilot, remember?" He gave a grin that was at the same time impish and self-deprecating, and she found herself relaxing just a bit. Over the last couple of weeks as they bounced around warp theories and engine designs, she had come to realize again how much more than "just a pilot" Tom actually was, and she was reminded of how glad she was that Harry had suggested having him join their project.

Massaging her temples and cocking her head, she gave him a small, apologetic smile in return. "Sorry. Long day."

His eyes sparked with concern. "Have you eaten? I have some extra rations. We could head down to the mess hall and grab some dinner – my treat. Maybe pizza?" he suggested hopefully, but then, when she didn't respond immediately, added, "Or if you want to call it a night, I'd understand."

Surprisingly, she found that she didn't. As tired as she was and as irritating as Tom's contrasting excessive enthusiasm could be, she found herself enjoying his company. "No. Food sounds good." Then, she grinned. "Even pizza," she added, baiting him into a look of mock horror. "How do you always seem to have extra rations, anyway?"

He chuckled, motioning for her to exit the holographic shuttle craft ahead of him and calling for the computer to save and close the program before adroitly changing the subject.

* * *

As they made their way through _Voyager_'s corridors, Tom extrapolated in detail on the lengths that he had gone to in order to persuade the replicator to produce a decent pepperoni pizza. B'Elanna seemed more than slightly exasperated at his enthusiasm for this particular subject, but, at the same time, she appeared more at ease than he had seen her in quite a while. He dared to hope that he was even somewhat amusing her. On balance, he decided it was worth continuing and waxed poetic on the vices and virtues of a variety of pizza crusts.

It was still a couple hours before the end of the beta shift, and the mess hall was nearly empty when they entered. Considering the twitched eyebrows from the couple of crew members who were there at the entrance of the pilot and chief engineer without Harry Kim as their third, this was probably a very temporary blessing. The _Voyager_ rumor mill being the ravenous creature that it was, Paris had no doubt that a colorfully enhanced version of the sighting would have circulated through the ship by morning. He winced inwardly as he considered B'Elanna's probable reaction but then shrugged: there was, after all, only so much he could control.

By the time he had replicated their food, B'Elanna had curled up on one of the couches in the lounge area. She eagerly accepted the coffee he handed to her but looked askance at the pizza. Tom had no such hesitations and picked up a piece appreciatively. "Just think – if we figure out this transwarp drive, we could be back on Earth eating real pizza in days."

B'Elanna grimaced, both hands encircling the warmth of her mug. "That's a pretty big 'if' at this point."

He shrugged, taking a large bite of pizza before responding. "I don't know – I actually think we are making some progress." Tom eyed her then, considering his next question. "What do you think about it? Going home, I mean."

She sipped her coffee, gazing ahead. "I'm not sure. I've never really had much of a 'home', certainly not since I left Kessik for the Academy." She paused and chuckled ruefully before continuing, "When we were first stuck out here, I was pretty furious at the Captain for giving the order to destroy the array. But now..." She shifted her gaze over to look at him and finished softly, uncertainly, "I'm not sure that there's much that I would be going back to."

He nodded. He knew little about her past beyond what she had confided to him in the Vidiian caves, other than that she had been at Starfleet Academy briefly and then had ended up with the Maquis. Curious to learn more, he pressed gently, "What about family? Friends?"

She shrugged, "I haven't spoken to my mother since I left for the Academy and haven't seen or heard from my father since he left years before that. As for friends," she considered the question, "most of the Maquis I was closest too are on _Voyager_...or were..." _Seska,_ he interpreted. "So I guess that there aren't a lot of people in the Alpha Quadrant who would be lining up to welcome me home," she finished with a tone he couldn't quite read, somewhere between bitter and regretful. Tom found himself wondering about that father who had walked out on her, the mother who had let her go, the classmates and professors at the Academy who had watched her walk away. _Didn't they realize what they were letting get away?_ Shifting the conversation away from the shadows of her past, he pointed out, "But you're still giving all your free time to this project."

"It's my job," she replied simply. Then she grinned wryly and admitted, "And I can't resist a challenge." Then the grin widened as she added, "Besides I needed to humor poor Harry, and this was the least improbable of his 'get home quick' schemes."

He grinned back, "Harry can be a bit irrepressible, can't he?" but further thought was cut short by the blaring of alarms across the mess hall followed closely by Chakotay's summons of all hands to battle stations. The sudden appearance of two Kazon ships outside the mess hall viewport added any further explanation needed and, after a hurried glance, both officers sprinted to the door.


	4. IV

A/N - Many thanks to the writers of "Threshold" whose script I borrow heavily from in the second half of this chapter. Again, nothing in the _Voyager_ universe belongs to me, but I enjoy playing around in it a bit.

* * *

**IV.**

_...takes place during "Threshold", mid-season 2_

Tom left sickbay feeling more alive than he had in years. Everything felt so very right, so clear and uncomplicated. He was vaguely aware that he was riding the emotional high of a lifetime but couldn't bring himself to analyze that or care. It had been a long time since he had been so simply happy.

He made his way down to Deck 10, knowing that B'Elanna would still be in Engineering analyzing the data from the shuttle craft logs. The prospect of celebrating the successful transwarp flight by pouring over every modicum of data that the sensors had collected with the chief engineer seemed, at that moment, like the perfect end to a perfect day. Despite the kaleidoscope of images currently still swirling through his mind, the memory of B'Elanna rushing into sickbay first full of concern and then mirroring his own elation at their success remained clear.

Engineering was relatively quiet as he entered, and he quickly sighted B'Elanna sitting with her back to him and pouring through a small pile of PADDs. He had learned the hard way a couple of weeks before that to startle her was to take one's life into one's hands, and so he quietly cleared his throat as he approached. She turned at the sound and then, seeing him, she smiled widely and her eyes flashed as she reached out to grasp his arm, "Tom! You need to see the data you collected – it's fascinating!" _You're fascinating_, he thought as he took in that smile and what excitement did to her eyes, but he merely returned her smile and pulled up a chair beside her to examine the PADDs. "How much did we get?"

"As much as the shuttle's memory core could hold," she replied. "We sent enough navigational data over to stellar cartography to keep them busy for months, if not years. Here's the analysis of the engine's performance," she added, handing him a PADD from another pile.

He looked it over for a moment before commenting, "You were right – not a scratch."

She grinned. "Looks like you were right when you said you'd be able to fly it."

"All part of the service." He grinned back.

Her expression sobered just a bit. "Seriously though, Tom, you just made history. That's got to feel pretty amazing."

He considered that and considered her. "It does, probably more than it should."

Her head cocked to the side, and she reached out, touching the back of his hand. "Let it," she caught his eye and smiled. "You deserve it."

* * *

A couple hours later, they had migrated to the mess hall in search of coffee. PADDs were scattered about the table in front of them, belying how methodically the two of them were now working through the data. From time to time, B'Elanna glanced over at the pilot sitting beside her. Tom still buzzed with energy, but it was harnessed into a calm intensity that she recognized from watching him at the conn. Still flushed with success, he seemed to have lost the edge of guardedness that with him was so often masked in ironic smiles and jokes; she wondered if this was what he was like in his years at the Academy before the accident at Caldik Prime and all that followed.

She had yet to process her own part in this little history making venture of theirs and admitted to herself that she was thoroughly distracted by the pilot's happiness. And that the fact that she was still there pouring over logs long after she should have called it a day had less to do with the data and more to do with the contentment that she had come to find in Tom's company over the last few weeks. Sometime soon, she knew, she was going to have to figure out exactly what that all meant. She mentally shied away from that reckoning - emotional introspection was not her strength. Better to leave that for another time.

Neelix wandered over to refill their coffee, proudly announcing his new blend, "Paris Delight". To B'Elanna's amusement, Tom barely registered Neelix's flattery. She grinned and teased, "Well you might as well get used to it. You're a hero now."

He grimaced. "Wish I could say it was nothing." The grimace deepened as he sipped the coffee. "Ugh. I wish Neelix would name something after me that tasted a little better."

Picking up her own cup, she cautiously sniffed the concoction. "Smells okay."

"No, trust me," he cautioned in mock seriousness. "You're taking your life into your hands." She smiled and sipped the brew that seemed no less nor more objectionable than the Talaxian's average concoction. Tom turned the conversation back to the shuttle flight for a moment before stopping suddenly, looking somewhat nauseated. "What's wrong?" she asked, concerned.

Tom frowned, swallowing a bit. "I don't think the coffee is settling well."

She raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to go back to sickbay?" she asked archly, though some instinct pricked a warning at the back of her neck.

"No, I've seen enough of the Doctor for one day," he assured her, but then blinked and winced hard and his hand went to his head. "Ow. On second thought, maybe I should..." and that prickling burst into shrieking alarm as Tom tried to rise and collapsed to the floor.

Without conscious thought, she was at his side, calling first for an emergency transport to sickbay and then, that failing, a medical team to the mess hall. Tom lay, gasping, veins visibly throbbing in his head, his eyes frantic. Her own mind was screaming, but she grasped his hand in one of hers, bracing his shoulder with the other in reassurance. "Hang on, Tom," she urged. And, as he turned at her words, his panicked, now unnaturally blue gaze catching and holding her own as if a lifeline, something inside her came undone and nausea threatened to overwhelm her. She tightened her grasp on his hand and her hand on his shoulder slipped up to caress his hair away from his now sweating forehead. "Hold on," she whispered.


	5. V

**V.**

_...following the events of "Investigations" and in the aftermath of "Deadlock", late Season 2_

A ship without working engines had little need for a helmsman. And so, Tom had found himself playing the roles of heavy lifter, everyman and general gopher over the last three days as the engineering department worked around the clock to repair the damage done when _Voyager_ had been duplicated and bombarded by her sister ship's proton bursts. With much of the ship still in pieces, the crew had spent the last seventy-two hours tripping over each other in Engineering, which had given Tom ample opportunity to become convinced of what he had suspected since his return from his covert mission to flush out _Voyager_'s mole several weeks earlier: a certain chief engineer was actively avoiding him, no small task in the close confines of the last few days. So, when Harry needed someone to take specs from the navigational array to B'Elanna who was working deep within the bowels of the ship, Tom volunteered.

He almost regretted the decision as he mounted yet another access ladder, but he at last emerged to find the engineer sitting cross-legged in the Jefferies tube working through some complicated surgical procedure on her ship that he wasn't even going to pretend to understand.

"B'Elanna, I have some information from the navigational array that Harry said you wanted," he began, offering the PADD.

"Just throw it over there," she responded shortly, shrugging toward her tool kit and not even bothering to look over at him.

_You're welcome_, he let the thought remain wisely unspoken and crawled off the ladder to place the PADD as indicated. Then he tried again: "Need any help?"

"I've got it. Thanks." Her voice was tight, angry. He hadn't heard quite that tone from her since she had called him a pig for his colorful programming of a certain pool shark. A wiser man would have backed off. Hell, nine times out of ten, Tom would have backed off. It was easier to shrug, smile and walk away seemingly unscathed. But no way was he letting her get away quite that easily.

"We haven't had the chance to talk much in the last couple of weeks," he ventured.

She muttered something that sounded vaguely Klingon under her breath but kept her eyes firmly on the components in front of her.

Taking what was likely a blood insult as a small victory – _at least it's one step up from total avoidance – _Tom pressed on, "Did I do something wrong?"

She gave a snort and slammed in the module she was working on with more than necessary force. "I really don't have time for this now, Paris."

His eyebrows climbed. "Oh, so we're back to last names now, are we?" He moved a bit further into the tube, leaning into her field of vision and intentionally crowding her personal space. "Look, _Torres_, you've been avoiding me for the last month. Perhaps you could at least do me the courtesy of telling me why?"

Given little choice, she snapped around to face him, eyes flashing with annoyance and steadily building anger. "_Why? _Why the hell do you think? You lied to me, Tom. You used me as part of your game." The pilot blanched. He had done a fair amount of intentional blurring of the events leading up to his departure from _Voyager,_ but he remembered their conversation in Engineering with vivid clarity. She had been honest and open, trusting him with pieces of her own past and concerned about his own apparent struggles. Trapped in the persona he had taken on at the Captain's request, he had responded with bitterness and, yes, lies.

She continued, giving a small, derisive laugh. "And, you know, I can't believe that I fell for it – that I even bothered to worry about you. So tell me," she finished, her voice laced with disdain and the intensifying heat of her glare burning at him, "was I as much fun to play around with as poor Chakotay?"

He flinched visibly at the reminder of his ten minutes of fame interview with Neelix and his less than ideal on-air apology to the first officer. Not his finest moment. Not even close. That said... "You know, I _was _acting under orders. And for good reasons." He heard his own voice, edged and defensive.

"And that's supposed to just make everything okay?" B'Elanna's hands clenched into fists and her volume rose steadily. "That you were _ordered_ to act like a total ass, lie to your friends and then walk out on them?" Her voice caught for a second at that last but then recovered. "Nice that the _order _was so thorough and specific," she spat at him.

Tom knew he had already lost whatever objective he had had in starting this conversation, and he felt his anger and voice level rising to match her own. "I was trying to help the ship."

"Nice that you could play the hero yet again," she retorted.

Her shot hit home, and he met the fire in her eyes with his own icy stare. "Why do you care so much? You didn't even bother to say good bye."

"You didn't bother to tell me you were leaving."

* * *

They held a mutual, deadly glare, neither willing to give a millimeter. She had only been vaguely aware that their argument built into a crescendo of near screams, but, in the contrasting silence, she found herself all too conscious of the heat of both his eyes and his body, still invasively close, and of the heaviness of his breathing. Klingon and human instincts joined in a desire to lunge at him and obliterate, one way or the other, whatever stupidity he might next chose to utter.

_Why do you care so much?_ She breathed once, twice, turned her back against the bulkhead and closed her eyes. In the too close space of the Jefferies tube, it was the only retreat she had left. She summoned defenses built over years to keep pain and hurt at bay. She deliberately let herself remember her desperation weeks ago as Tom laying gasping on the mess hall floor, the sleepless emptiness that night when they thought him dead and, lastly, most keenly, her feeling of utter betrayal at hearing second-hand that Tom was leaving _Voyager_. _Leaving without a word._ Other, much older memories threatened to boil up, but she fought them, and the shattering panic that threatened to overwhelm her, back down. _Why do you care so much? _She shouldn't. She couldn't.

_Breathe. Just breathe._

It wasn't often that B'Elanna felt fear. Her Klingon physiology ensured that her reaction to even the most extreme danger was much different than that of the average human. But her vulnerability concerning Tom Paris right now was terrifying her. She needed to get back in control, to find some distance.

_Breathe._

"Fine," she finally managed, eyes still closed.

"Fine?" His voice was still tight and anger remained, but there was confusion now as well. She dared not consider what had been running through his thoughts in the last moments.

"Yes, fine." And at last she was able to open her eyes and turn to him, though she deliberately shifted away, creating just enough more space as she did so. "You were doing your job. I can hardly fault you for that." She held her voice steady and almost toneless.

He looked at her searchingly at that, and she let him look. She had nowhere near Tom's proficiency at pulling on masks and hiding her thoughts and feelings, but the last year had given her the ability to play the professional when needed, and she drew on that skill now. Tom was a fellow officer, he had done what he needed to in order to save the ship. They were colleagues. They could work together. And that was it.

She ignored the wrenching pain in her gut when she saw the brief, intense hurt in his eyes and then also the twisting of that pain as his face fell into lines of courteous professionalism that mirrored her own. She heard his voice, artificially light and casual as he moved back to the ladder, "Okay, then. Fine. I'd better get back down to Harry."

"Right." She nodded and forced a tight, impersonal smile as she gestured toward the PADD he had delivered. "And thank you for bringing up the specs."

He nodded back as he began to descend. "Any time, Lieutenant."

She waited until she was sure he was at least one deck down and she was again alone before allowing herself to collapse, pulling her knees to her chest and burying her head in her arms, silently cursing herself for her own cowardice.


End file.
